


Desolation Bound

by PlumTea



Series: Backhanded Affection [2]
Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25563505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumTea/pseuds/PlumTea
Summary: To be a prince is to resign yourself to being a pawn on the chessboard. But there are other ways to play chess; you can always throw the pieces at your opponent.
Relationships: Belial/Lucilius (Granblue Fantasy)
Series: Backhanded Affection [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1846834
Comments: 9
Kudos: 63





	Desolation Bound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GStK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GStK/gifts).



There is no mercy in politics, and Lucilius keeps his teeth right above his tongue, in case he needs to draw blood. No matter his mood, he is still himself, the same boiled desolation and sharp wit. They will not take that from him. He will not bend against their apathy. 

It’s never good news when Father, the king, calls the three brothers into his room at night. The last time they did, Lucifer was coming down with a cold so bad that he could barely breathe, and his breath was stolen away for good when he announced he’d be wedded away. Lucifer is better now, and he is the only ally Lucilius has in the room.

“There’s been another marriage proposal.”

Lucio’s breath hitches in anticipation, audible in the silence of the room. 

“Lucilius. You will meet with the first prince of Malkhut.”

Here come the hands to drown him.

“Not to Binah?” Lucio gasps, surprised. Lucilius curdles at the thought of Lucio knowing more about his future bondage than himself. “But I thought… wasn’t the queen saying that her daughter…”

“Father,” Lucifer speaks up, “Sandalphon and I are doing quite well.” Their wedding is in a month. There is so much to do around their union— venues to book, security to do checks and doublechecks— and still, Lucifer is trying to protect him. One marriage to Malkhut is enough. Should be enough. 

“I don’t want to get married,” he speaks for himself. He has already planned out the rest of his life; to never marry, to live on his own. With some luck, his father would give up on him, hopefully disinherit him, then he can be free. Anything is better than being a pawn to this country and its political machinations. 

It’s a flip of the coin whether his father is willing to listen to dissent or will remain oppressive. He gets his response through Father’s cold, “He is set to arrive in a week."

There’s little else he can do. White-knuckled and grimacing, Lucilius says "yes" with all the hate in his heart. 

* * *

Lucio always knows the worst things to say. He isn’t dense enough to not notice how Lucilius would rather swallow glass than get married. “My turn will come,” he says more to himself than to Lucilius. “But at least you have someone, in the meantime.”

Lucifer pats Lucilius' hand, gives him a smile that could part the clouds away from the sun. "It might not all be bad. You could come to care for him, once you get to know him more."

Of course Lucifer would say that. Lucifer, who even when coughing his lungs out, locked in bed, fell in love with the Malkhut grit. Lucilius would have to sit in the same chair that the brat sat in, reading the words Lucifer would scrawl across his notebook, all of love, love, love. Father had thrown Lucifer into the prison he designed, but Lucifer was happy because he was there with someone else. Lucilius would never be happy with a chain around his throat. "Things aren't as easy as you make them seem."

"Perhaps." He apologizes with his eyes, and Lucilius lays his head on Lucifer’s shoulder. If only this moment were frozen in time, and the next days would never come. 

He is never so lucky. 

* * *

Lucilius keeps his public appearances short and brief, but this time he doesn’t have much of a choice. His armor this time: a wide umbrella even on an overcast day, a dark sunhat that shades his face.

“Must you look like you’re attending a funeral?” sighs Lucio, dressed bright enough to blind the sun. Lucilius ignores him. 

The airplane steps are rolled to the side of the plane, and then out comes the brick wall to Lucilius’ future. The first prince looks like his repulsive little brother; same dark hair, same penchant for clothes far too black. He comes out of the plane with rainbow-sheen sunglasses, dressed in an outfit better suited for a nightclub. His smile is wide, and he shows the back of his white teeth when Lucilius looks at him. “Well,” he says, voice amused and sultry, “this is my SO-to-be?”

Lucilius turns his head away, and stalks back to the car. To that, all he gets is some laughter, and the patter of footsteps following him. 

The prince is more than content to listen to the sound of his own voice, through press conferences, through mealtimes. So he's a narcissist. Lucilius will more than happily let him play his own tune, as long as he leaves Lucilius out of it. 

* * *

Chandeliers glitter at the bottom of Lucilius’ champagne. There are too many voices, far too much rabble, all for celebration. Words springing up like weeds. He spies the princess of Binah speaking with her brother, and turns away. He enjoys conversations with Shalem, but the moment is soured by the knowledge that his father pawned him off in secret.

He can’t escape the premises altogether, but he can sit on the balcony and shut the windows behind him. Lucio would say it’s not safe, but Lucio has drawn nearly half the room to him by sheer presence alone, so he’s not around to bother Lucilius. 

A creak of the window opening. A jangle of footsteps. “Your suit… an Albion brand, is it? Nice cut. It fits you well.” The prince takes a seat on the same bench Lucilius is on. “Not having fun at your own party?”

“How foolish to celebrate a tragedy.” 

A laugh. He sees the hand moving out of the corner of his eye and slaps it away. 

“No.”

The prince stops laughing. Whatever's in his eyes is unreadable. His hand retreats back into the darkness. 

The party hums behind them, muffled chatter and the plinking of the piano keys from the live band. Moonlight, high in the sky, drapes across Lucilius’ legs. Insects chatter and chirp in the trees below, calling out their own secrets. The prince is quiet besides him, and Lucilius is content to let himself sublimate into the silence. 

* * *

There's a knock on his door. It could be Lucifer, shyly asking for romantic advice in his nightclothes again. It could be Lucio, silk and gauzy, with a tray of tea, hoping to buy his way into Lucilius' good graces again. 

No, it's a shadow, long and lean, leaning on the doorframe with a smile that says he owns the entire palace. "Awake and about, even so late? You're such a busybody, it's almost charming—“

Lucilius nearly slams the door in his face, but the prince is larger and denser than he is, and it isn't hard to knock Lucilius down and force his way in. “Nice room,” he whistles, ignoring Lucilius scrambling away. “You have to invite me in more often. We can make use of the soundproofing to—“

A blip in the music humming from the record player. Lucilius stands in the prince’s space, the length of a letter opener to his throat. 

"Believe it or not," the prince says, swallowing around the curve of the blade, "I didn't come in here to force you into anything." When Lucilius purses his mouth around an answer, the prince adds, "Anything but my charming conversation." 

“Why would I make time for you?”

“It worked for Sandy, why not for me?” That only increases the pressure. “Because if you’re not going to give me the time of day otherwise, I’ll make some myself.”

A long moment, eye to eye, breath to breath. Lucilius pockets the letter opener, but not too deep in his pocket. “Your brother is a lovesick buffoon.”

“Sandy always did love fairy tales. And now there’s a handsome young man that he can sweep off his feet.” The prince flops down and makes himself right at home on Lucilius' bed. “Comfy. About how many mattress toppers did you stack on this one?”

“I have no idea why my father wants me to marry you.”

“It is a weird political move, I’ll say.”

“You are an out of control hedonist. You have made appearances in the Malkhut tabloids twenty times in the last year. Arrests for public indecency as well.”

“Could’ve sworn it was twenty-one.” Nonplussed, the prince shrugs. “I like to have a good time.”

“Someone like that doesn’t seem like you’d be too keen on marriage.”

“Who says I’m keen?” The prince does not waver. “You’re a looker, I bet your skin would just _shine_ once it’s nice and bare. But being taken doesn’t usually mean open, and that means I can’t enjoy the buffet.”

Lucilius clicks his tongue. “Absolutely worthless. Not worth my time.”

“Oh? And you think you’re worth mine?” The prince traces Lucilius’ dark circles in the air. “Sure, my old man sent me over here because Chokmah’s nice and powerful and has a lot of power in the continent, but that’s the country. That’s not _you._ Don’t think I don’t know about the gloomy and unsociable brother of the three.”

His reputation precedes him. “What of it?”

“You haven’t realized? I’m not good enough for the dear angelic crown prince… but I am good enough for you.” The prince yawns, as if he was bored with the information. “We got paired up because we’re both the black sheep of the family. You’re not the only victim here.”

Every word prickles Lucilius’ ears. He squeezes his hands tight, but even as his nails dig into his palms he knows— he knows the prince isn’t wrong. If everyone draws lots when they’re born, then Lucilius drew the short stick. More ideas than stars in the sky, and inadequate energy to see them shine. Melancholic tendencies, a body that can’t handle hard labor. He’s a poor candidate for marriage because he’s a prince and not a princess, because his poor constitution would make him an easy target for assassination. Father would want to get rid of him as soon as possible, especially while he’s at a marriageable age. 

“So,” he hisses. Impasse to impasse. “We’re both stuck.”

“Sure are. So,” the prince, Belial, rolls onto his stomach, eyes gleaming. “Let’s get along.”

* * *

“You know, you don’t have to read _all_ your father’s documents.”

“Lucio does.” And like hell he’s letting Lucio know any more than him. “If you’re not interested, you can stop anytime you please. Close the door on your way out.”

“Ah, you think partying is all I’ve done, huh? To tell the truth, I've been given the gift of politics. Sandy, poor kid wouldn't be able to tell one treaty from the next. Always been hopeless at this. He’ll make good arm candy.” Belial tosses another pile of clipped papers, where it bounces by the edge of the sheets. “The curse of being the eldest, doing all the work.” 

Lucilius scoffs. As if anyone needs birth order as an excuse to work hard. 

But Belial has already worked through half the pile of copies that Lucilius orders delivered to him every day. He folds his arms under his head, kicking up his shoes on a draft about tax reform. They are both horizontal; one lounging comfortably and the other cold and stiff. 

“Seems like our fathers have been in contact often,” Lucilius says, turning over the fifth correspondence from the king of Malkhut. Some of the usual, inquiring about Belial’s stay and Sandalphon’s integration into the Chokmah royal family, but it’s far too many messages for someone like his father, who only responds himself once in a blue moon. 

Lucilius turns the page. 

Belial shrugs. “My old man’s a pain in the ass. If he tells me to stand, I’m going to sit.”

“I’m sure you’re a thrill for that reason.”

“Oh, you bet. And he knows it too. And you? Why work so hard, if you won’t ever get the throne?”

Lucilius doesn’t answer, even when the silence has stretched to a point where one is necessary. 

“I think you want something else.”

“Tell me,” Lucilius commands.

Belial gently pries the papers from Lucilius’ hand and pushes against Lucilius’ limits, leaning over him. “You want power,” he whispers. 

“Power is something destined to wane.”

“You could have just left all the political responsibility to big brother, but here you are. An uprising? Or... he does bother you often, doesn't he? Are you going to puppet brother dear behind the scenes?”

Voice in his throat, Lucilius keeps his face marble-smooth. 

"A conspiracy. Together." Belial is so close that they could share the same breath, if Lucilius chooses to exhale. “If that’s what you’re plotting, then take me along for the ride.”

"You just want to marry me so you can get between my legs."

"I freely admit the thought has crossed my mind. It’s an absolute shame that I’ve been on your bed this many times and we haven’t even used it for its intended purpose.”

Lucilius hands him a bottle of sleeping pills from the nightstand. Belial takes the bottle with a beleaguered sigh. 

* * *

“Disrobe.”

Belial blinks, nearly dropping the tray of snacks he brought back from the kitchens. “Darling, I thought you’d never ask.”

“I’m not having sex with you.”

He’s peeling his shirt off already. “Maybe not. But you know, I could say you seduced me and if anyone comes in, that would be rather compromising, don’t you think?”

"This is my room. You don't have any cameras in here. As for your phone, you'll find that it's in a lead-lined box in the bathroom. Besides,” the corner of Lucilius’ mouth is a sharp extreme, “who would believe that someone so gloomy and unsociable would manage to seduce anyone?”

Conceding defeat, Belial sighs and shrugs off his boxers too. 

Belial prides himself on being attractive, and his athletic body shows work; it’s hard to keep defined abs, and around that his waist is tight. Healthy skin tone, and his arms and thighs look very sturdy. His chest is rather curved, but that seems to be a natural disposition rather than a lack of diligence. Clearly he’s someone who works out often. It’s not hard to imagine him being able to attract the attention to cause that many scandals. 

Anyway. 

Lucilius motions to the fresh stack of papers. Belial quirks an eyebrow, but hops on the mattress regardless. He picks up the first folder, opens it, and loses his breath. “Hey, hey, none of this is…”

“Malkhut state secrets,” Lucilius shows all his fangs. “I’m sure you can verify the authenticity of them for me.”

“You do your research.” 

“Naturally.”

“Well for starters,” Belial passes him the first folder. “The dates are wrong on that one.”

By the time the clock chimes three on the wall, the folders are split into two piles, and Belial is still smiling. His breaths patter faster than usual, red sheen in his eyes glimmering. Enough information to destroy a country and pull it inside out, to sink them both if this was discovered-- and he’s having fun. 

Even after being shown his neck, Belial refuses to bite either. Frustrating. Vexing. 

Lucilius' hand darts to Belial’s crotch, and squeezes. His nails are mercifully trimmed short. Belial sharply inhales his surprise, holding his breath. Under Lucilius’ palm he feels a twitch, but it’s still soft. He lets go with a huff, and pours half a bottle’s worth of hand sanitizer over his palm.

Belial cackles, putting his clothes on with the ease of someone who knows exactly where the zippers and buttons are. “So did I pass your test?”

Lucilius throws him out of his room before he can put his arm through one of his sleeves. 

But he is back the next night, and the night after that. 

* * *

“Why you?”

“You know how much trouble it is to muffle the press? Stint twenty-one was too much for the old man. There’s no real way to sanitize an orgy, especially not when half the participants have had a tangle with dexedrine.” 

“Sounds stupid.”

“Oh, it was grand. Why live if you’re not having a good time? So the old man thought, kill two birds with one stone. I marry you, which is a punishment, and I also get a confirmed partner with a stronghold in a good country. All in a nice neat bow, a happy ending. And you’re cute, I’ll give you that, but I sure didn’t know that on the way here. So how about me?” Belial asks into the crook of Lucilius’ elbow. “I’m sure you’ve realized just how devastatingly charming—“

“Annoying. You flirt with all the staff in the hall, and your shirts are so tight that they’re definitely cutting off oxygen—“

“You are so sharp! Cutting myself on your edges is such a thrill!”

Lucilius closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Jazz hums out, slow and rhythmic, from the record player.

Belial, feather-light, brushes a lock of hair away from his eyes. “I’m starting to not mind.”

Breath hitched, Lucilius’ lips curl down.

“You’re better than anything I ever expected. If we get chained together, hey, we’ll make a good duo.”

“You are unexpected,” Lucilius concedes in return. 

“I like the element of surprise,” Belial says, sun and shadow, abnormally warm. 

* * *

“You had other marriage candidates?”

Lucilius continues chewing. He is not going to waste his millefeuille on Belial’s surprise. “To Binah’s princess, yes. Shame nobody decided to inform me of that either.”

“Yikes. Sandy’s big day is soon, isn’t it? Two princes to one country. That’s a crazy amount of favoritism. Malkhut’s good but it’s not _amazing_.” Belial yawns, sipping at his iced coffee. “I knew my old man was annoying, but he begged your dad that much, huh?”

Lucilius’ breath leaves him in a punch. Fork and knife and meal are left behind. His brain swirls, but his body is frozen below. The kaleidoscope unfolds its image. 

“Stand up.”

Belial has barely a moment before he’s whisked to his feet, and Lucilius is pulling him out the door. He stumbles, clearly not used to being dragged, but he follows through this methodical madness anyway. 

Lucilius tosses formality aside when he charges past the guards and throws open the doors to his father’s room. He is sitting at his desk, his pen-lines dictating the ebb and flow that the world will take. “At least shut the door.”

It bangs shut behind them, rattling on its hinges. 

“You don’t want us to get married,” Lucilius snarls.

His father quirks an eyebrow.

“Binah is the better option, and _apparently_ , you’ve been in talks for longer with them to get me sold off. But Malkhut’s king is so persistent, isn’t he? You know I hate the idea of marriage. You _knew_ I’d turn down the offer, so you wouldn’t have to turn it down yourself.”

“And?” The absolute confidence of secrets being splayed out to the world, and to not fear them regardless. It sends hate darting down Lucilius’ throat, but he knows that there is no such thing as being invulnerable. 

There, the question. 

Lucilius grabs Belial by the collar and yanks him down. Their kiss is hard, one hand against the back of Belial’s neck to hold him there. Apart, blazing, Lucilius declares, “Then I am getting married.”

He doesn’t wait to hear his father’s reply. 

Belial laughs long and loud down the hallway. “Unexpected— goddamn, Cil. You’re a delight.”

Lucilius locks the door behind them and leans against it. He coughs once to deter the elation crawling up his face, but it comes regardless. “Sit when you’re told to stand.”

Belial is before him, combing a hand through Lucilius hair. “You know, that means you’ll end up coming back to Malkhut with me, right? Are those big dreams of yours going to fit in such a small place?”

“I’ll manage,” Lucilius looks at Belial, eyes blue and shining, “It may not be Lucio, but there is a worrier who is so frightened on his son’s behalf, isn’t there? Someone like that can easily be… adjusted.”

A delightful sigh comes straggled from Belial’s heart, and he presses his lips to Lucilius’ knuckles. “This is a ride I’m not missing for the world, dear husband.”

Lucilius closes his eyes, hears the record plinking out tunes, the birds, the sound of Belial’s words. For once, it sounds right. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Lera and Ro for the lookover!


End file.
